Thursday, July 14, 2011

Like many adult children, I sometimes look back at my mother and lament over all of her child-rearing 'mistakes.' (Not as much now that I have children of my own.) Nevertheless, I must give her credit for making my brother and I respect her -- particularly her time.

She is much shorter than I am, but I have never felt 'bigger than my mother.' Not in height or anything else. Sure, I've probably had more opportunities and experiences, but I pale in comparison to her in many ways. Today, the world probably sees her as a little old lady, but I still feel she could 'take me out' in a second. And, she wouldn't have to resort to violence. You see, my mother's weapon of choice is The Look.

My mother was (and still is) an expert at giving The Look. It seems that as a child, any time I'd even think about acting up in her presence, her eyes were on me with The Look. Especially in church. I'd sit there fidgeting or, heaven forbid, talking to friends, and slowly she would turn her head toward me and give it to me.... that stern glare that said, "One more move and I'll kill you!" (At least that's how I interpreted it.) I've tried The Look on my kids but it doesn't seem to work. "Mom, why are you making that funny face?" is usually the response I get.

Years ago, there were times when I would linger a little too long with friends after school in front of Dorsey High, knowing that my mom was waiting. On the days she would pick me up, she would get there early and park right in front of the school so I could see her as soon as I walked out. She knew I could see her and she'd give me about a minute to say my goodbyes before I'd get The Look, which said, "Don't make me have to get out of this car and come get you."

Again... I've tried this with my kids as I wait in the hot sun for them outside of their schools and watch them slowly stroll to the car. You would think my daughter is a celebrity the way she exits the school... acknowledging each and every friend...stopping to chat with them...giving a slight wave to those far away..... friends she will see the next day!! In the meantime, I am seething in the car and trying to give her The Look because I know she sees me! Finally, she makes it to the car and the little brat has the nerve to say, "Have you been waiting long?"

Facebook Badge

Frankie Beverly and Maze

About Me & Email

Follow Blog by Email

Remembering Black L.A.

There is a dearth of historical stories on black life in Southern California. Those that do exist focus on entertainment, crime, or sports. But looking back, one might wonder -- what was every day life like for black Angelenos thirty or forty years ago? Where, and how, did they live, work, and play?

There have always been more stories written for and about the communities west and north of downtown. South and East L.A. stories are mostly crime-related or reports of 'just how bad it is' for African-Americans and Latinos in Southern California. It was the same when I grew up in the period following the Watts riot. Then, as now, crime, poverty, unemployment, educational inadequacies, and racial tensions, formed the nucleus of the stories on Black L.A.

However, as a black girl coming of age in what was then called South-Central Los Angeles, I remember lives that weren't defined by what the media wrote about us. We had a distinct culture that differed from blacks in other metropolises. And -- we had fun, we fell in love, and we enjoyed all that Southern California had to offer! Where are those stories?

Given, nostalgia tends to 'rewrite the hands of time' with a positive slant. However, I do remember cohesive, family-centered, black Los Angeles communities before the crack epidemic of the 1980s decimated so many neighborhoods. I'm speaking of parents who worked hard, raised their children, and held on to that same middle-class dream that fueled families from Pacoima to Pasadena. Where are those stories?

Do we want to go back to those times? Probably not. There was segregation and limited opportunities for blacks. Oh wait -- this still exists! Nevertheless, the stories must be told - the good and bad. Perhaps in looking at our history we can find nuggets of wisdom on how to get through today's hard times.

Then, as now, we kept living... kept going... and within the stories of being black in 'back-in-the-day' L.A., there are references that only those that lived it would understand; although, others might find them enlightening, such as: what black teens used to do with white index cards; why our parents traveled across town to shop at FEDCO; how the Red Onion and the Speakeasy became popular spots on Friday nights for black professionals; when 'the Jungle' was the place to live; bid-whist games and barbeques at Centinela Park; the black high school students who traveled to Hollywood to dance on Soul Train each week; meeting up at Fatburgers after the Saturday night parties; and much, much more. Where are those stories?